


burgundy

by wordcountenthusiast



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, So much angst, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcountenthusiast/pseuds/wordcountenthusiast
Summary: Aziraphale fell in love with humanity over the thousands of years he spent on Earth. He also coincidentally fell in love with Crowley, though he prefers not to dwell on that when it isn't immediately relevant. Neither of those things, however, are particularly Angelic, and Aziraphale eventually must pay the price for them.That price is taken sooner than Aziraphale would have hoped.(This summary is really bad, but I promise my writing is actually better than the summary. I think. I hope.)





	burgundy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm taking a bit of a break from writing my multi-chapter stuff, so here's an angsty little thing that took me way, WAY too long to write. 
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos if you enjoy!

It happened quickly. Well, actually, it happened monumentally slowly, but against the scheme of the universe and all its infinite time, it happened quickly. A small temptation for Crowley here, a bit of human food there, and the underlying love for someone he should not, and theoretically, could not love. None of those things were particularly angelic, and Aziraphale knew he wasn’t exactly toeing the line, but it had never really been that bad. He hadn’t done anything major, or truly demonic, and he was generally virtuous. Or at least, it seemed that way.

It was monumentally slow. 

It was a warm summer evening. Crowley was off somewhere in Germany, working and tempting in order to meet his quota. (It was stupid that they still had to adhere to a quota, but he wasn’t one to complain, neither of them were. It was better than not being on Earth at all.) Aziraphale knew he wouldn't be gone for long, he never really was, and because this was the third day of his trip, he was due back tomorrow. Even though it was slightly more boring without Crowley, Aziraphale enjoyed the time alone. He could do all the things that he knew bored Crowley to tears.

That night, it had been a movie (it was a newer release but not particularly good, Aziraphale never particularly saw the virtue in action movies) and a nice dinner at a Thai place a few streets from the theatre. And then it would be returning to the bookshop and tucking into a nice night of reading, analyzing, and languishing in the comfort and familiarity of his tomes. 

So Aziraphale made himself a cup of cocoa and sat down at his desk. He preferred it to the overly cushioned armchairs that line his office mainly because he didn’t want to spill his drink. The book he had chosen was a prophetic work, completely inaccurate of course, but its familiarity and comfort were pleasant to Aziraphale. Also, he took pride in his collection of first edition manuscripts and felt the need to use them, or at least show them off a bit, every once in a while.

After a quick scan of the book, then a more detailed read-through, Aziraphale decided to get some sleep. He wasn’t tired per se, but he was bored, which was essentially the same for a being such as himself. 

He changed into a set of flannel pajamas Crowley had given him. Aziraphale enjoyed the connection to humanity that things like changing and sleeping gave him. He loved humanity. That was particularly un-angelic of him. Not that he minded.

Of course, many angels loved humanity because they loved everything. That was angelic, but Aziraphale’s love of humanity went beyond it. He loved humanity like a sibling, like a long lost love, like an artist’s favorite brush or pen, like someone loves the rising sun not only because it provides them with warmth and light and food, but because it is so beautiful they can’t describe it in words. 

Sleep slowly overtook Aziraphale. It wasn't exactly sleeping, he supposed, but it was a rough approximation. An angel’s “sleep” consisted of a series of lucid dreams, with fully present thoughts and a world at their manipulation. As well as restfulness, this “lucid sleep” led to some exceedingly strange dreams and scenarios. 

Aziraphale’s dreams were typically about Crowley. He never minded.

It was early when he woke. The sun hadn’t begun to rise yet, despite it being summer, and the world around him was shockingly quiet. It felt peaceful, but he knew that something was wrong. He felt it deep in his bones, like something inside him that he had never noticed before was stirring, and it was  _ hungry _ . His stomach lurched and he sat up quickly, hands shaking a bit. He didn’t feel unsteady or weak, but he shook anyway because he didn’t know what to do with his body. Everything felt wrong, almost like an itchy blanket had been thrown over him, and he was not only covered in the rough wool but struggling to breathe in its warm confines. 

He had only felt like this once before, when he began to consistently hide his wings. He had gotten accustomed to having his wings hidden by then so the sensation wasn’t as strong, but now it was back with a vengeance. It was awful, and he felt his mind shift like he was watching himself instead of inhabiting his own body. 

And at that moment Aziraphale longed for Crowley, like a pressing ache in his heart, worse than the sensations that dragged at his senses and clouded his mind.

Then the pain intensified and he felt his mouth open in a ragged sigh, yet no noise came out. He cried out silently, tears beginning down his cheeks, as his body continued to move and twist in ways that he could never imagine. He had no idea what was happening to him, but if he could find Crowley, he knew he would help him. He would know what was happening to Aziraphale.

With an immense force of will, Aziraphale stood. Stars blotted his vision for a few seconds and he became concerned that he would faint, but he continued forward anyway. The phone was in the back room of his store. Down the stairs and a hallway away. But the hallway stretched in front of him like the mouth of a cave, laughing at him as he struggles.

And his body twisted. And he cried out again, this time producing a small, raspy squeak that sounded infinitely loud in the dark expanse of the early morning.

Some indefinable amount of time later, a noise brought Aziraphale from his stupor. He wasn’t completely sure if he had fallen unconscious or not, but he had retreated far enough into his mind that he couldn’t feel the pain or passage of time anymore. As he reoriented to his surroundings, he felt a deep ache permeating his muscles and bones. It wasn’t anything like the mind-ravaging pain he had felt before, but it left him with a deep sense of disorientation, like something about him was irreparably different. Something was wrong. However, being free of the mind-numbing, identity-destroying, all-consuming pain that he had just experienced was a relief, no matter what lay ahead of him. 

Another noise forced Aziraphale to pull himself off the floor and try to make sense of his surroundings. His book shop looked the same but it felt alien, like he was seeing it through a different filter. It was like he could see and identify everything around them, but he couldn’t put them together in his mind to form a whole picture. Like he was missing a sense.

And then he realized. He couldn’t feel the love that typically permeated the book shop and the surrounding area.

He could only feel a sense of dark fear and hate emanating from the world around him. It was subdued in the book shop, but it was there, and it made him feel uncomfortable, like he had a layer of grime on his hands that he couldn’t quite wash off. 

But there was something he could make sense of.

Crowley knelt in front of him, movements slow and tentative, with a look of intense worry and panic on his face. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses for some indeterminable reason, and his yellow-gold irises had pushed out all hints of white from his eyes.

“What happened, angel?” His voice was incredibly soft and it sounded quieter than it should, as if someone turned down the sound on the world. Aziraphale didn’t feel the familiar pang of heartsickness and regret upon hearing Crowley’s voice. He was an  _ angel  _ and Crowley was a  _ demon _ , which always made him feel a bit guilty, but it was gone now. All that remained was the soft glimmer of hope that bloomed in his chest at seeing Crowley. Maybe his pain was over. Maybe they could work together to determine what happened. And if neither of those things were true, well, at least he would have someone to keep him company through whatever pain he still had to endure.

“I’m… Not exactly sure. But it’s good that you’re here.”

Crowley had his suspicions of what was happening, but he didn’t want to share them until he knew they were true. It would be too difficult.

“Well, maybe explain to me what you’ve felt? It’s better than knowing nothing.”

Aziraphale hesitated, unsure of how to describe his pain, then spoke.

“It was like something was eating me alive, from the inside out. I felt like my entire body was being destroyed and born anew, but slowly, so I felt every bit of destruction. I felt my personality, my being, stripped away before being shoved back into my body. But I don’t think this is my body. It feels different, like everything was shifted an inch to the left, but my soul was put back in the same place as before. And… It hurt. So badly.” Aziraphale’s voice broke a little on the last few words. He felt like he was going to cry. He hadn’t really realized that those were the sensations he had experienced, but upon verbalizing them, the true pain of what had happened permeated his body and left him with a deep sense of discomfort.

But it was nothing compared to the cold dread that Crowley felt down to his bones.

“Oh, angel,” He said softly, leaning forward to wrap Aziraphale tightly in his arms. “Show me your wings.”

Aziraphale hesitated for a second, then summoned forward his wings. He was prepared to see a lot of things. Molting, scabbing, even peacock feathers would’ve been just fine, but he wasn’t expecting anything close to what he saw.

Veins of a dark, blood-red spread from the base of his wings, staining the feathers closest to his back the most and leaving the tips of his wings a pure white. Although the color was comparable to blood, it wasn’t dripping or flowing like a liquid, and instead appeared to be a form of magic binding his wings. It pulsated slowly, converting more and more of his milky feathers to a rich burgundy. Normally, the color would be nice because it reminded him of wine and Heaven in the old days, before it became so stark and empty, but as it grasped his wings in a dark embrace, he only felt a sense of all-consuming dread. 

The connection Aziraphale typically felt to his wings was muddy and they didn’t fully obey his commands, instead spasming and twitching under the influence of the mysterious bloody light. A sick sense of doubt wormed its way through his stomach, twisting the sense of security he had gotten on Crowley’s arrival into something new, something monstrous, something angry. He knew what happened, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Instead, he pushed himself out of Crowley’s arms and stood, towering over the demon in a shaky display of intimidation.

“Angel--” Crowley started, standing up to meet Aziraphale.

“Don’t call me that,” He snapped in response. Crowley took a step back, slightly shocked. He had seen Aziraphale angry at Gabriel and Heaven, he had seen him frustrated and distraught, but never truly angry at Crowley himself.

“Do you… Know what happened now?” Aziraphale asked after a minute. “Because I have a suspicion, but you would know better.” A glint of tears shone in his eyes. Crowley wanted more than anything to not have to be the one to break Aziraphale’s heart, but he knew he had to.

“I think you Fell.”

Aziraphale’s wings disappeared, and he turned away from Crowley.

A moment passed, then two. Aziraphale didn’t respond or even acknowledge Crowley’s words, but he didn’t blame him. Crowley remembered the intense pain that Falling had caused and how terrifying and impossible it had felt at first. The feeling of your life being irrevocably changed is deeply disconcerting and usually very painful, so it was okay that Aziraphale had an adjustment period.

Another minute passed, the two standing in the same positions, barely breathing.

“What do you want from me, angel? I’m here to help you.” Crowley broke the silence.

“Don’t call me that,” Aziraphale repeated, his voice low and dangerous. Crowley stepped forward, intending to place a hand on his shoulder, but Aziraphale turned around before he could, tears glistening on his cheeks and teeth bared in a snarl. He looked terrifying, and Crowley couldn’t help taking a step back and letting his eyes go wide.

“This is all your fault,  _ demon _ . If it hadn’t been for you, for our  _ Arrangement _ , I would still be an Angel. I would be  _ okay _ . But now look at me, I’m just as messed up as you are. I thought you loved me, I thought you cared, but clearly, you didn’t. You just - just wanted to  _ influence  _ me.  _ Tempt _ me. And to think. I thought I loved you too.” Aziraphale’s tone was hurt and angry and full of so much emotion that Crowley couldn’t even fathom it all. He felt a small twist in his chest, a very human thing, as he comprehended what Aziraphale was saying.  _ He thinks I did this to him. He thinks that I did this on purpose, that this is my fault.  _ Crowley couldn’t think of what to say in response that would make the situation better. He obviously shouldn’t try to comfort Aziraphale because he is angry and he’s allowed to be angry, but Crowley didn’t want him to be angry with  _ him _ . There would be a large transitional period for Falling and certainly a frankly demonic amount of paperwork, and he wouldn’t let Aziraphale endure that alone, not if he could do anything about it.

“Aziraphale,” He said simply and took a step forward tentatively, wary of another outburst. When he didn’t respond, Crowley took a few more steps until they were only a few inches from each other. “It’s going to be okay, love.” 

It took a force of will for Crowley to avoid calling him ‘angel’, but if Aziraphale couldn’t recognize that it was a nickname, not an identifier by now, well, it was probably best to avoid. 

“Crowley, don’t you see? There’s nothing you can do to make this better.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. Blame me and hate me as much as you want, you can’t push me away. You can’t do this alone, I won’t let you.”

“I don’t want you here. You can’t change that.”

Crowley understood the pain Aziraphale was going through, understood why he was lashing out. It still hurt, but that wasn’t important.

“You don’t really have anyone else, love. You don’t have Heaven anymore, and Hell certainly won’t trust you. But you have me. You don’t need to use me, but you have me.”

“That’s - That’s  _ mean _ , Crowley.”

“It’s true.”

“Why should I trust you? It’s your fault I Fell.”

“Because, Aziraphale, I’ve known you for thousands of years. Wouldn’t you have Fallen sooner if I was truly trying to manipulate you for evil? Also, if that was my motive, why would I still be here? I love you, I’ve said it a hundred times and I’ll say it a thousand more. But please, trust me. I know how painful this is, and I had to go through it alone. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Aziraphale seemed to consider for a moment, then softened his posture. 

“I’m scared, Crowley.”

“I know, love. I know.” 

Aziraphale stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between them in order to lay his head on Crowley’s shoulder. In an instinctive response, Crowley wrapped his arms around him and held him gently, trying to imbue him with all the warmth he could. Falling was a cold, dark, and painful thing, and Crowley would shield Aziraphale from as much of it as he could. 

Aziraphale’s wings slowly spread out from his back once more. They were almost entirely red now, with only a few white feathers remaining at the tips. Crowley remembered that his own transformation had been slower, and his wings had turned an inky black instead of Aziraphale’s blood red. 

“Crowley.”

“Yes, my love?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Blaming you. This isn’t your fault. And… I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They broke away from each other for a moment, and Aziraphale looked across Crowley’s face, eyes eventually settling on his lips. They weren’t exactly together romantically despite declaring their love, and they had never kissed, but Aziraphale was comfortable with that for the moment. Although he loved being touched by Crowley, he didn’t want that very human form of romantic intimacy in such an emotionally difficult moment. 

Crowley reached forward and brushed his thumb along Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“It’s going to be okay, angel.”

Aziraphale sighed, resting his head gently on Crowley’s hand.

“Yes. It is.”


End file.
